


Birds of a feather tend to flock together

by Lokuro



Series: Curse of Strahd Verse [9]
Category: Curse of Strahd - Fandom, Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, Strong Female Characters, best birds, don't bother her if you want to live, werecrows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:29:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29844987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokuro/pseuds/Lokuro
Summary: A short series of drabbles for our most amazing DM <3 covering some creepy, hilarious and frankly terrifying aspects of Barovian life.Case 3" 'Birds of a feather tend to flock together' is a false assumption as only diversifying your portfolio will secure a sustainable cash flow."
Relationships: Danika Martikova/Urvin Martikov
Series: Curse of Strahd Verse [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1802551
Kudos: 6





	Birds of a feather tend to flock together

The first cold spell of winter has diverted the citizens of Vallaki from their habitual aimless wandering about the outskirts of the city and the frozen lake-shores and led them into the well-heated and welcoming Blue Water Inn. The tavern was loud, warm, and remarkably full of life for such a lifeless place as Vallaki. Even those fortunate few who had good stoves waiting for them at home would go to the tavern for a glass of a revivifying _Purple Grapemash Number 3_ or simply to take a look at Danika's stern face and instantly be ashamed of their life choices. Well, mostly for the former. But Urvin secretly believed that the most valuable part of their yet undwindling prosperity was secured by the austere face and the rare luck that his wife had so generously brought into his accursed family. Davian be damned for ever suggesting otherwise.

"Urvin, are you daydreaming? Table five reminded me again about their wolf steak, and if they complain for the third time, it will be their last," even in her human form, Danika moved as silently as a bird. Her approach was like one of these odd episodes when one moment you were alone on the road, and the next there was a crow perched on top of a tree, preening so serenely as if it was sitting on this very spot since the beginning of time.

Urvin, who was still and would forever be a perfect fool for his wife, took a moment to appreciate her dark eyes, and it spoke volumes about how used he was to gazing at her that he did not miss an inch as he handed her the two plates with steaming hot steaks and a few potatoes each. The potatoes were golden and shimmering, with a spot of butter still melting on their peel and leisurely sliding down the round flank. How Urvin created such masterpieces with the few withered greens and an old piece of marinated meat would forever be a mystery to his wife. 

"Don't kill any more customers, love, you know it's bad for business," Urvin gently chided as he handed her the plates.   
"Well, don't make me," and with a mean smile, Danika disappeared into the main room to take care of demanding customers who never knew how thin was the ice they were treading on. 

After the secluded kitchenette, the tavern seemed heavy with noise. Yet after years of marriage Danika was used to being surrounded by some low-level chatter or other, both in her bird- and human-form. She had learned to listen in on all kinds of strange conversations and nonsensical remarks with the most indifferent of looks. 

"... and by then the damn werewolves have ripped their throats out."  
"Fucking beasts. The next bunch we find, I am gonna skin alive."  
"Damn right, especially after what they did to the kids..."

The plates came down on their table with a horrifying thwack. Danika's immovable face was frozen over with detached anger. Anger that the two hunters only recognised as a woman's fear, a mother's fright. Not entirely mistaken, yet completely missing a myriad of underlying emotions. 

The bigger hunter looked at her softly, embarrassed to have scared the good woman so.   
"Don't worry, the kids were spared the curse to be turned into werebeasts. They died rather than be ripped apart from their human souls. Thank the Morninglord for small mercies."  
And then the other hunter chimed in, "Right! And we will free the Woods from these horrendous abominations. Fear not!" 

"Enjoy your wolves. Four silver pieces each." 

Danika turned away without a second glance over her stiff shoulders to the bewildered hunters. She grieved for the kids as much as any mother would and detested the werewolfs as any Barovian — they were genuine animals and nothing like the werecrows, nothing! But she would not be frightened into regretting her choices: Neither taking Urvin to her husband (even it meant putting up with his messed-up wereclan), nor their boys and the destiny she gave them at birth. Never. Yet each time she walked by a gutted corpse of a werewolf nailed to the city gates as a warning for the Evil and encouragement for all the good citizens, she could not help but look for tiny black feathers clinging to the bloodied hide. 

No. Danika clenched her teeth, grabbed a nearby bucket full of dirty dishwater to be disposed of later and left thought the back entry. She stepped outside and stood there for a moment letting the evening mist wash over her. The cold drizzle smelled of wet logs, mashed up dirt, and distant woodsmoke. Danika closed her tired eyes, inhaled the clammy air and let the silence calm her nerves. She felt better. 

"Give it to me, I wanna see if I can cut off its wings!" 

Her eyes flew open, and she dashed around the corner of the tavern, where the excited voice came from. Two children about her own boys' age stood looking down at something small and wet laying in the mud. Black feathers drained in a murky puddle. For a second, her heart stopped, and when it resumed its pounding, it was with a heavier, harder pace. 

"Stop it! Immediately!" 

The kids — a boy and a girl, one of whom she recognised as one of the local orphanage's — took one look at the mad women running up to them with a fire burning in her eyes and a bucket clenched to her breast, and it sufficed. They let go of their prey instantly. Still too late to avoid a bucketful of dishwater being poured over them to speed up their retreat. 

"We did not do anything! A carriage got it!" The kids were staring at her with wide, fearful eyes. Dirty dishwater was dripping from their thin hair and drenching their cast-off clothes. 

"Get out." Danika unclenched her jaws barely enough to hiss the order. The kids did not need to be asked twice and were gone in a flash as the empty bucket was still rolling on the street. Danika knelt into the mud, never minding the dirt sticking to her fresh, neatly done dress. Beneath the wet clay, debris, and clotted leaves laid a small black bird, modestly hid from prying eyes. A thin layer of yellow rainwater, opaque with mud, coated the feathers and turned the little bird into a dreamily, discoloured ghost. 

Danika felt like the most selfish of all animals when she thanked the Seeker from the bottom of her heart that it was not a crow. Thank the goddess — a starling. She gently eased it from the mud and cleaned its broken feathers to carry the cold, tiny corpse to be buried behind the house, with all the selfish gratitude that at least this pain was not hers to bear. Pray it helped to chase off the day when it might come to her doorstep. 


End file.
